


Penchant

by wickedrum



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Emetophilia, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, reinforcement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-25 11:04:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4958029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedrum/pseuds/wickedrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set: Starts in the middle of Legolas’ good bye scene in TBOTFA. Thranduil wants him to stay and luck has it he might’ve found a way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maybe Not

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am aware that this is version nr X of an injured Thranduil after the battle, but I assure, there still are plenty more versions unwritten that my mind cannot leave alone no matter how hard I try. Also, if you read my Reinforcement-theme stories, you will find the analogy brought into play again.  
> Pairing: Various, not a ship oriented fic. Will gravitate towards Thranduil/Tauriel simply because that’s my boat.

Mirkwood’s Prince turned away. He was done. Done with the complications of life, family and love, done with the heartache of fighting for Tauriel when there was no reward or as much as hope to be had, done with waiting for his father or his friend to open their hearts to him. The flight response won out and he wanted nothing to do with any of his old life, not till he had a good break of having to even think about them. It didn’t matter to him where he went, he may as well go to where Thranduil had suggested, but an actual decision over that could wait as well. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered, bar for a chance to clear his head and ease the painful numbness in his heart that has been growing there for years spent in Tauriel’s company. 

“Legolas.” His father’s voice sounded different and it stopped him in his tracks. He didn’t remember ever hearing him so vulnerable and pained, so odd. The prince wasn’t sure where to place it. 

“Your mother loved you. More than anyone, more than life.” The disclosure accentuated Legolas’ pause. Never did his father speak of his mother, why was he doing it now? He looked back to give Thranduil his dues, thank him for the declaration. His king was already thanking him, one hand extended in a gesture of offering his heart, a motion he had not seen from the older elf for decades. Odder yet, was how the royal seemed unbalanced by the gesture, swaying and having to reach with his other hand to support himself on the stone wall behind him. 

It gave Legolas yet another pause as he reciprocated the thank you sign. His forehead furrowed, “are you injured?” He took interest. He couldn’t completely disregard the fact that Thranduil was pale and unsteady on his feet, could he?

“Not gravely,” Thranduil admitted. Though now that the élan keeping him fighting and trying to find his son was no longer necessary, he had to acknowledge that the pain in his side was rather disorientating and that he would probably have to sit down if he didn’t want to throw up. “It is of no importance,” he assured Legolas. 

The Prince took a step towards him, “where is everybody?” He asked suspiciously. It has only dawned on him now that Thranduil was so unusually alone, without his guards and usually sizeable entourage of devotees and servants. 

“No more elvish blood for dwarves,” he grit out regretfully as an explanation, his imposing form leaning unnaturally forward as he braced himself and propped his forehead on his fist placed on the wall for support.

“Only yours.” Legolas concluded, words measured and weighty as realisation dawned. 

“It wasn’t for them.” Thranduil spat. But for his son, always, if necessary.

Legolas closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. As it were, Tauriel came here to save his love, Legolas the same, and Thranduil followed for reasons similar, defending a loved one. It was a heavy weight, the awareness, and guilt grabbed his chest, but then he blew out the air and shook his head disapprovingly. The stubborn bastard should’ve taken Feren at least. He stepped close, standing at attention at arm’s length. “Let me help you to your healers. You need help,” the younger elf stated. 

Thranduil blinked up at his son, mind and heart tearing in so many pieces it left him dazed. Or was that the pain. He shouldn’t be this affected by the blow of an orc. Main important thing that Legolas was there. His son was still there, he didn’t leave. And the king would cling at every opportunity to keep it that way, for as long as possible, if it was only till the boy helped him down the mountain. Unlike in any other circumstance when he would’ve refused help out of pride and standing, Thranduil nodded minutely and reached out a hand to place on Legolas’ shoulder. 

“Alright?” The archer asked worriedly in response, searching the king’s pale face and pain filled eyes. “Is this satisfactory?” He meant the support, “can you make it down?” The prince probed with a renewed interest in the wellbeing of his king. 

The ruler scoffed at him and made the first step, using the support offered. It was Legolas however who guided him through the ruins with mild encouragement, steering him in the right direction of the maze of corridors and remnants when his father’s steps faltered or hesitated. Though the trek was silent bar from quiet words from Legolas indicating direction, the walk was far from being without interaction, the kind they’ve not had for a long while. It wasn’t that the prince had played close attention to his father, he had done that on many occasions other times in a routine manner, it was how the king let him react and support him in his needs as they manoeuvred their way to the part of the ruins that had crumbled enough for no walls to remain standing. 

Half way, Legolas instinctually decided that putting his arm round the older elf’s back was necessary and because of no objections it stayed there. Thranduil leaned on him, then towards him more and more, to the extent he practically ended up with his head on his son’s shoulder. It unnerved Legolas, dread gripping his chest tight. So when they’ve reached the light provided by the pale winter sun and the part of the show that could still glow and was not stained by blood, he stopped by the wall and manhandled the older elf to lean on it, so that Legolas could look him in the face. “Ada.” He started, some of his previous aloofness still evident, but concern seeping through. “Where are you injured? How bad is it?”

Thranduil grimaced, “I don’t know myself,” he admitted, “take the chest plate off,” he suggested.

Legolas nodded and reached under his father’s cloak to find the fasteners and buckles and took to remove the item expertly, as he had done on many occasions when he was younger and he was taken out on his first patrol outings in the forest, Thranduil not letting him out of his sight. In a different life perhaps, it seemed such a distant memory. The older elf couldn’t supress a low groan enough however this time and his eyelids fluttered as Legolas handled his left side. It was immediately obvious to the prince why, there was a great huge bash-in at his flank, most likely caused by a falling boulder or the blow of an orc if it hit directly. He quickly pulled his arms round the ruler and let him lean onto his shoulder once more, a position that now looked more of a hug than anything else with them facing each other. The weight was heavy, so fearing that the king could not support himself he suggested, “I will lower you down,” he let him know, “let’s look at your injuries.” 

The fairer haired elf was reluctant to let go and extract himself from the hug. He knew that Legolas had not meant it that way, that it was only a by-product of the support, and he would not show such emotion himself by choice, but fact remained that embracing his son was all he wanted to do at this point in time, and that the needing physical support was a good decoy. He grunted in displeasure when his back side hit the hard, cold ground, having to admit to himself that perhaps he had underestimated the pain that engulfed his side. It was that side too, his bad, burnt side and although he needed no illusion to cover dragon induced wounds so much lower than his face, past damage to muscle and tissue made his current injury worse. He hasn’t paid much attention to it earlier, but now that Legolas was lifting and parting his garments, even Thranduil had to admit that the sight did not look pretty. Several of his ribs were broken, he knew that much, but one of them was out of place and threatening to pierce his skin any moment from the inside out and a big dark contusion was forming under it. 

“There’s blood, filling up your belly,” Legolas concluded at a loss. It explained why Thranduil was getting weaker but it wasn’t something he could do much about, it wasn’t like he could press a hand on the wound and slow it down. And he wasn’t very good at the ability of healing, and certainly not good at it without athelas. “I’m going to get help,” he decided, looking around desperately. Moving the older elf didn’t sound like a great idea now, it might cause more harm than good. 

“I am alright, ion-nin,” Thranduil felt the need to assure him as he did not like seeing his son troubled, “it is unlikely to be a mortal injury, I’ve had a lot worse.”

“Nevertheless, I’d like it to be seen to,” Legolas was determined. “Don’t move, I’m going to get your healers,” he stood and turned without looking back to break into a run. He only went half a corner though before bumping into Tauriel’s crying form as she uselessly kept kissing her fallen dwarf. It irked Legolas and pierced his heart as well, but he paused for a moment, contemplating if she would be of any use if he’d asked for help. Tauriel was more adept at healing than him and she was the closest to where it was needed. Then he discarded the idea, she didn’t seem in her right mind to do anything. He would go for proper healers. “My father lays injured behind that wall because he came to protect me, all alone. I will come back with aid. Watch out for him.” He gave a half-hearted plea as he took to the crumbling stairs. He wasn’t sure if she had even heard her or knew he was there, or whether she would care.

Tbc


	2. Unequivocally

Chapter 2: Unequivocally

Tauriel arranged Kili’s limbs reverently, in a manner she thought it would be comfortable if he was alive, tears rolling down her cheeks and not showing any signs of slowing. She sat there on her haunches by him, looking at his unusually handsome dwarfish features and stroking his arms absently, fingers curling into fists at times and squeezing his coat. Now that the sounds of the battle have died down, it was eerily silent up there, cold wind whistling quietly to take its territory back from the finite beings who deemed themselves important enough for a moment in the fabric of time to disturb nature’s usual ways. Thus the sounds of retching and wheezing coming from not far was like an assault to the hearing in the otherwise sacredly quiet and even so it took Tauriel a good while till the sound reached her awareness enough to start an involuntary thought process, one that connected a vague recollection of Legolas talking to her a few moments ago and the direction of the sound. They had to have come from the king. 

The sounds didn’t sound comfortable, there was no denying that. An inkling fizzled to life inside her and grew into a reluctant intent, that she should go and see to him dutifully for Legolas’ sake if nothing else. She patted and squeezed Kili’s arm, then rose to a stumble, stealing a look back. No, she wasn’t leaving the dwarf, not at all, she would come back in a moment. Tauriel remained preoccupied and locked in her grief turning the corner and did not pay attention to the sight, not until she was practically tripping over Thranduil’s feet as he lay prone, head supported by the wall behind him and trying to keep leaning to the side and not be sick on himself. 

Tauriel paused, knowing she should do something but reluctant to breach that unwritten rule that the king shouldn’t be touched without permission. They weren’t on good terms either, she couldn’t be sure how he would react. But as the spasms of his contracting abdominal muscles he flailed to hold desperately, wrecked his whole frame, it became evident he struggled to breathe and was half an inch from bathing his face in his own vomit, very unroyal-like. The bile was tinged with streaks of blood coming from his stomach and it was the shade of that red that sealed her decision. 

The elleth knelt by her suffering king and grabbed hold of his torso to at least hold him up. Thranduil could only give a silent gasp amid struggles to keep his insides where they belonged to indicate she had taken hold of him exactly where she shouldn’t have and made the searching pain rip through his chest and belly even more, a level that transitioned him from airheaded to vision going completely dark and him unconscious. Which is how the redhead ended up with the king’s head in her lap and with his body in her arms. 

“My Lord?” The elleth questioned as alarmed as her worn soul allowed at the moment. Well done Tauriel, you killed the king. As carefully as she could, she manoeuvred herself out from under him and placed him softly onto the hard ground. At least he was a little away from his own vomit this way. With a hand placed in front of his mouth, the younger elf assured herself that he was still breathing, then looked for the reason for his condition. 

It was not difficult to guess where to check judging by where her touch hurt him and how she felt bones grating under her fingers beneath his tunic. She gave less hesitation to her next move than before, looking under the fabric, the fact that it could be a matter of the life and death of the elvenking himself hastened her movements. The inspection gave her cause for concern as she had expected-although no skin was pierced through, a blind could see he would have internal organs mangled in there and the pocked of blood that collected under the surface and made his belly bulge a little bit. It was the kind of injury that would get slowly worse from being barely noticeable at first, but without doubt if not dealt with. Tauriel placed her hand just above, on his flank, she would direct healing energies from there, not wanting to make matters worse with further pressure closed to the torn tissure. The redhead wished Legolas would hurry, for his sake and so she could get back to where her heart pulled her, but she gave her best at any case, she would do as much as was possible without herbal aids. She could keep him stable and not getting worse at least, she was sure of that. 

It was the pleasantness of the tingling warmness in his side that tricked Thranduil into awareness. It didn’t match the circumstances much, so he opened his eyes slowly to investigate, avoiding any other movement to protect himself from the pain. “Tauriel,” he breathed questioningly. 

“At your service, My Lord,” she assured him. 

“Is that so?” Thranduil questioned incredulously.

“Let me do this, Your Majesty. The injury needs tending,” the elleth entreated. She was responsible for a lot, at least it shouldn’t be his deteriorating. “I will take whatever punishment you deem fit once you’re taken care of,” she promised. She was well aware that threatening the king should not be without consequences and it had all been for nothing as it was. “I think I hear them coming, help should be here soon, just lie still,” she advised good-naturedly.

Punishing the deserter was the last thing on the king’s mind however. “Cover the blood. Legolas should not see.” He ordered. 

Tauriel blinked at that. “But My Lord, it would be better if I didn’t discontinue the spell working on your stomach,” the redhead argued in her true fashion.

“Do it now, before my son gets here,” Thranduil tried to make her comply again. He would roll his eyes, but he felt dizzy and nauseous as it was without making his vision tilt voluntarily. 

“Yes, My Lord,” Tauriel got to her senses of having to follow orders once more, quickly gathered some snow and dropped the pile on the vomit puddle. She didn’t have to turn back and look at him to know she had been right and he was back to suffering without her continued touch. Thranduil had his forehead creased, eyes slipped closed, breaths coming in pained little gasps. Tauriel didn’t hesitate to reassume her place, but it was too late for his blood filled belly not to rebel. He started retching it up just as Legolas and his followers closed in behind them, Thranduil’s hand closing round her wrist for support and somewhat in panic. 

Tbc


	3. Safe Than Sorry

Chapter 3: Cautious

A little miracle in itself, but it was Glandur, Thranduil’s personal chief healer, another blond elf who appeared by his side, Legolas hovering worriedly in the background. It seemed like his father’s condition has deteriorated in his absence. “The prince tells of possible damage to the insides,” Glandur, not just occasional healer but advisor to the king addressed Tauriel, prompting her to talk. With the wall behind Thranduil and the elleth helping holding up the king’s lolling head with one hand and resuming her healing touch on his side with the other, the elder healer could not get a proper look himself immediately. 

“He is in a lot of pain,” Tauriel explained her reluctance to discontinue the touch. “Have you got athelas?”

“Brew he needs,” the healer pulled out a small flask, “if the damage is truly solely inside and we can’t crush some fresh leaves into the wound.”

“It’s not possible,” the redhead confirmed. Athelas brew was unfortunately less efficient, but it’s not like they were going to injure the king further just so they could heal him. 

“Legolas,” Glandur ordered, handing over the decanter to the prince, “he had stopped heaving. Get him to drink a few mouthfuls. Me and Tauriel will incant,” the advisor elf established. “Continue with easing the pain while I connect the athelas with the healing spell,” he instructed the surprised Tauriel. Now that a professional was present, she didn’t think she would be needed for much longer. 

“Ada,” Legolas knelt by the elleth, avoiding the bloody puddle as much as possible. He placed a hand behind Thranduil’s head as the older elf tried to push himself up as he was sitting there propped to the wall, offing his hand as a quasi cushion against the hardness of the stone. “Ada,” he repeated, looking to catch Thranduil’s attention. 

“I’m alright,” his father assured once more. He did in fact feel reasonably acceptable with Tauriel’s hand on his skin and fleetingly contemplated how he wasn’t made aware how skilful the elleth had gotten in the art of healing as well. He ought to reward and use that knowledge..oh wait. His thought process stopped once he remembered their standoff. 

“Stay still,” Glandur grumbled as he tried to assess the damage. “Can you breathe alright?” He worried the askew ribs have pierced a lung. Thranduil’s skin was very cold too. “Give me some of your cloaks and mantels,” he shot back at Feren and some of the other guards who came up with them who complied immediately, “we need to keep him warm.”

“It hurts like being impaled several times if that’s what you mean,” Thranduil grumbled back, making in fact everyone happy for being able to act like himself and grill them with murderous looks condescendingly.

“When you breathe?” The personal healer probed.

“All the time,” the king ground out irritably. He didn’t like being seen by so many in his weakened state.

“Legolas, the brew,” Glandur pressed. He didn’t mean for the prince to be deterred from his task with his talking. 

The younger elf nodded at his father, as if asking for permission and then tilted the decanter to the king’s lips. Glandur paid close attention, waiting a few moments for the few sips of the healing liquid to reach the ruler’s stomach, then closed his eyes and chanted with his hands over the injured area. Thranduil leaned his head back. Healing was tiring even if he wasn’t doing most of it himself. Energy seeped into his bones and tissues from the outside source, feeling like it was spreading a balm in his belly, covering it and sealing. It was warm and somnolent and suddenly the hard ground didn’t seem so uncomfortable anymore. 

“Ada?” Legolas questioned with some alarm and so Thranduil shook himself awake at that to find his son’s palm propping up his head and stoking his cheek, and Glandur and Tauriel were withdrawn from him and yet his side wasn’t screaming for attention.

“Drink down the rest of the flask, My Lord,” the healer instructed, “your stomach should be strong enough to handle it by now.”

Thranduil attempted to comply and get his bearings to do so, but even he had to admit he was rather slow at it and found Legolas helping him drink again. He gulped once, twice, three times, but that was tiring too and then he leaned his head back again without much warning and the next mouthful was spilled down onto his chest by accident. Legolas gave the healer a despairing look. 

“It is alright,” Glandur guaranteed, “he will be alright, he is healed enough for the injury not to be serious any longer. It’s natural for him to fall asleep at this point, the process makes it so.”

“Should he not get more of this?” Legolas held up the flask. 

“Perhaps later,” the healer assured and looked round their surroundings once more. “The remaining cloaks will be used to make a hammock to carry our King down,” he ordered the guard to set to work and stood himself to make sure it was done right.

“Ada?” The prince tried again and not getting any response he decided to make his father more comfortable in his repose by putting his arms around the older elf and pulling him down for his momentarily crownless head to rest in his lap. The hair he smoothed down without thinking, as if his unconscious mind would’ve wanted to comfort the other elf. It was when he looked to see how far the guards have gotten with their task that he noticed that Tauriel was nowhere to be seen. Of course he shouldn’t have expected anything else.

Tbc


	4. Hot Trail

Chapter 4: Hot Trail

Tauriel wandered as if aimless, unhindered through the now deserted battlefield. Nobody gave her as much as a second look. The injured have been collected by all sides and the dead would have to wait for the time being until the ones who had a chance to make it would be taken care of. Kili and the other fallen dwarven royalty however had been well respected and given proper tribute by the lit procession of all dwarves still able to stand and a few of the townsfolk under Bard’s command amid funeral songs that accompanied them into the belly of the mountain where they have been entombed the night before. Tauriel was grateful she was allowed to partake, amid the members of the company no less, close friends of the once king under the mountain who would not take their hands off their fallen comrades right till the last minute. It was now done and it was all Tauriel could hope for at this point, and now she had no idea what to do with herself. While friendly to her in general, it was clear she had no business staying with the dwarves, but going back to the elvish she found herself reluctant to do. It wasn’t the promise of punishment, it was that it felt like her connection with her own kind seemed to have been severed. Their morals weren’t hers, their ways didn’t agree with her. Something in her did want to know however whether some members of the guard, people she had grown up with or those who had her back on dangerous missions were safe. And the king perhaps. She did want to know how the king was. The redhead ambled close to the elvish tents, wishing to find out something that gave her some clues, but not willing to ask anyone for fear of their reaction. She did desert after all. Tauriel stumbled around conflicted, eyes open, but not seeing till she felt a hand on her shoulder, making her turn. 

“Don’t you hear Tauriel. Have your ears been damaged in the battle.” Feren enquired somewhat irritably, “I’ve been shouting you for quite a while.”

“I didn’t hear you,” Tauriel confirmed confused shaking her head. 

“I was told to take you to the king when I see you.” The commandant grabbed her by the arm, not waiting for any disagreements from the rebel warrior. It wasn’t anything Tauriel minded at any case. She did want to find out how the king fared and the sooner she knew of her punishment and fate in relation to elvenkind, the better. 

“Enter.” Feren ordered at the royal tent’s flap, letting go of her. He himself stayed back. Tauriel blinked in the half darkness of the interior, though it was more her adrift state of mind that caused her disorientation, rather than the lack of sufficient light. 

“Tauriel.” Legolas acknowledged her simply from the bedside of his father, with Thranduil sitting up leaning on fluffed up pillows, poised and elegant and self-possessed as he picked grapes from a silvery bowl. 

“I am glad to see Your Majesty well,” Tauriel offered sincerely, bowing her head. 

“Is that so.” Thranduil questioned her intents again, raising his eyebrows. “We have your conduct to discuss. Legolas, leave us,” he instructed. 

The prince looked rather miffed, but he complied, giving his father’s hand a last squeeze though before he rose, making it clear he was still shaken after having seen Thranduil unwell and not leaving behind a need for physical contact for his own reassurance rather than anything else. Tauriel was surprised by it based on the notion that the two royals should have been at odds with each other, it was how she’d seen them for decades prior. She wished to be able to extent a hand as well, a comforting touch as Legolas has passed by her, but the redhead knew those days were gone, sealed by her actions to choose the dwarf over him. Legolas would never blame her, but their intimacy was gone. He didn’t make eye contact as he stepped out. “My Lord. The only defence that I can offer is that I have acted out of love. If such reason does not count for anything, I am here to submit to your will nevertheless.” She stated, not afraid. What could be worse than losing Kili?

Thranduil sighed deeply, clearly not hindered by his ribcage or his lungs. “I do not intend to fault you for anything you did out of love.”

Tauriel’s head snapped up at that and for the first time since her arrival she dared to look the ruler in the eyes, out of confusion nevertheless, “you don’t?” She was taken aback.

“I do intend to fault you however for rash actions and negligence with which you accepted my son’s help without care for his wellbeing and the safety of others.”

“I am very sorry you got injured, My Lord.” She retreated meekly. “It was never my intention to harm you.”

Thranduil waved a dismissive hand, “not myself. Your comrades. The guard you’ve abandoned.”

“I understand. I understand your point of view, My Lord. Even if I would choose to act the same way as I did, a hundred times over.”

The king nodded at that, settling. “Come here, closer Tauriel.” He said quietly, sadness and abandon evident in his voice. The tone surprised the elleth and it made her advance slowly, cautiously. His anger, she knew, this melancholy she did not. 

“Sit down here,” he motioned to the part of the bed by his legs, “you have made me talk loudly long enough. I am tired and my side hurts.” The king protested. “Not to mention this isn’t for anybody else’s ears.”

“I’ve hoped you’ve recovered My Lord,” Tauriel offered openly, sad that he was mentioning not feeling a hundred percent.

“I am, mostly. Sit.” He repeated.

The redhead sidestepped cautiously, sliding onto the war cot with considerable apprehension as she was closer to him than customary in court situations and on his bed no less. “Legolas plans to leave us,” Thranduil continued a lot more quietly, “he would’ve left already if it wasn’t for my incapacitation.”

“Where to?” Tauriel asked breathlessly, dread and fear coiling in her guts. She had guessed the answer and the whys, but hoped it wasn’t so.

Thranduil shook his head, “anywhere but here. I fear he feels so alienated he may not wish to come back, ever.”

Tauriel blanched, her heart stopping at such blunt admission of an emotional state by the king, carried more by his tone rather than the exact words, though those were shocking too. “I…” She remained clueless as to how to respond, inhaling deep with her mouth hanging open while she was deciding what to say. Could she think herself so important to assume that Legolas could’ve reacted to her heart’s choice so categorically? She settled on: “I am truly sorry if I have upset the prince, My Lord, it was never my intention.”

Thranduil’s gaze pierced into her, searching, considering, weighing her character. Then he titled his head and his eyes glazed over somewhat, hardened, as if he wasn’t seeing her now, “Legolas’ decision is not entirely your fault,” he allowed, “however, we may have a way to delay his departure and thus give ourselves a chance to change his mind.”

“How, My Lord?” Tauriel was keen on anything to make matters better at this point.

“If it works, I will grant you clemency for your attack on the king,” he established, “either way, take it as your punishment. Now. My healers advised me to take my leave from these wretched fallows with the first batch of the injured, go back home to rest as soon as possible and complete my healing there. They have declared me fit for the journey and we will be travelling with the least possible amount of company. All they want is a healer to accompany me and I choose you.” He held a hand up to stop Tauriel from interrupting audaciously. “Legolas volunteered to escort me, see me safe and well into the fortress. And then he would leave, without coming inside. We cannot have that.” The king held. “My injuries will get worse again on the journey and I will develop an infection. I will have to be carried inside, unwell.”

“My Lord?” The elleth’s brow furrowed, uncomprehending what he was talking about at first.

“I will play the part,” Thranduil assured, “all you have to do is cover for me as the healer present. Do you understand what I’m asking of you?”

“Yes? Your Majesty?” Tauriel said with a preoccupied, somewhat panicked, incredulous expression.

“Will you do it?” The king had to know. “I need you heart in this Tauriel, less will not do and raise suspicion. And you will never be able to tell a soul about it. Can you do it? So Legolas stays,” he added as further impetus.

“I believe I can, My Lord,” Tauriel agreed, going rather breathless. Deceit wasn’t a well-practised custom among the elvenkind, but she had to admit it would be for the best on this occasion.

“In that case, we will talk details,” he established, “but first, fetch that bottle of wine from the table. My son dared to refuse me on that request too.”

Tbc


	5. Advancement

Chapter 5: Advancement

Legolas also refused to as much as look at her. Tauriel had galloped over to his horse on more than one occasion, hoping to be able to take a measurement of the state of his mind at least if not talk to him, but the prince was obviously actively avoiding her, urging his mount to a different speed or a different direction any time she wandered near. Lacking the ability to engage her once training companion, Tauriel concentrated on the mission instead, however queer that may have been, trailing the king, looking for the cues that they have agreed on. 

Thranduil had started off leading his elves up on the treacherous mountain path on a young, brown horse, one Tauriel had recognised as belonging to one of the guards who had perished in the fighting. Albeit morose, the king’s clothes, demeanour and majestic, inimitable pose contrasted with the blacks and greens, greys, humdrum and gloom of the mourning or injured rest even without his elk and he never needed to look back to know when he had to slow down to let the wagons catch up. Over the last while however, Tauriel’s cues were starting to become apparent and she had to give it to the older elf, the visible changes were very well played. In contrast to how he’d always advance and move in a fluid manner no matter the changes in speed, Thranduil was stopping his horse altogether with an increasing frequency and loosened his posture to leaning forward a tad, stiff as opposed to graceful and seemingly effortless. Falling back, he left the lead to one of his lieutenants and took no particular position in the procession, drifting chaotically in the general direction of the destination. 

This disarray in itself would’ve been extremely worrying to anyone who had ever ridden with Thranduil, but ultimately he went as far as holding a hand to his midsection, only taking it away when Legolas rode to close ranks with him, ostensibly alarmed enough to venture a suggestion, “Your Majesty. We could take a rest.”

Thranduil nodded at that, his lips trembling and expression gloomy as he immediately steered his horse to the side of the road, leaving it to a surprised and exasperated Legolas to give the signal for everyone to stop. He had never expected the king to comply and so quickly too. The younger elf haphazardly abandoned his own horse to get to his father’s aid, who was only getting off his horse slowly and cautiously, not bending his torso further in any direction as he did so. 

“Ada…” Legolas started at a loss, “how bad do you feel?” He stopped a couple of steps away, still not sure how much of his help would be accepted. It was because of this that Tauriel got to do what she was preordained to when they’ve discussed the details of the plot with Thranduil the night before-which was to catch him when he would falter and sway after getting off the horse as planned. 

“Ada!” Legolas panicked, getting to hold him up by the elbow at his other side opposite from Tauriel while Thranduil moaned weakly, making his eyelids flutter. It was the closest she could get to the prince all day. Guards closed in round them straightaway as well. Seeing the king unwell was nobody’s business. 

“We need to get you to lie down a bit,” Tauriel coaxed the king, “just behind that boulder should not be too far and quite out of sight,” she nodded at the thing, looking at Legolas. 

“Can you make it there?” The prince pressed his father, not liking how much of his weight Thranduil let him support. 

“Yes,” he straightened up a little. There was no reason to make more of a scene than it was necessary just yet. Legolas had been conned and alarmed enough for the time being. But he let himself be steered to destination and dutifully sat down to where he was placed, coverlets already appearing at the king’s convenience from Gallion’s stash so he could sit on them as it would be required from a devoted servant. 

“You need to rest, My Lord,” Tauriel suggested, going further along with the unwritten script, “I will apply some balm to your side to soothe the pain,” she reached for the leather satchel hanging on her side that Glandur had bestowed upon her on departure for every eventuality that he himself truthfully didn’t find likely, but he assured the king would be covered at any case. “It will also give me a chance to assess his condition,” she told Legolas, not exactly looking him in the eyes. Lying into his face she found hard. The behaviour of hers however didn’t seem suspicious with all that bad blood between them at the moment. 

“Give the king some privacy!” The prince ordered on own initiative, motioning to the guards and curious bystanders to move away and to the other side of the boulder.

“Legolas, ion-nin,” Thranduil started softly, raising a hand towards him a little, but not attempting to touch him, “go make sure there are enough sentries and able bodies to guard in all directions. We are in a precarious place surrounded by peaks here,” he suggested as according to plan the younger elf had to be out of view and earshot as well for the next bit, “allow the backmarkers to catch up and send them forward, with the rest marching right behind. I will be on my feet by the time they pass,” he promised.

“Are you sure?” Legolas frowned suspiciously. He in fact looked at the healer present for confirmation instead of his father. 

“The king will be alright,” Tauriel promised, with an encouraging nod that made Legolas hesitantly part. The elleth was smearing the balm onto her fingertips and played for time while she unfastened the ties on the middle part of Thranduil’s silken tunic. Touch his skin she never had to resort to, Legolas took to his duties obediently. “He’s gone,” she announced to the king in hushed tones, somewhat disapprovingly. 

“Did you find and collect Liantehen seeds?” Thranduil demanded.

“Yes,” the redhead sighed, “are you sure you want to do this?” The elleth bit her lip. Sure, Liantehen was barely harmful to elves, acting as a mild poison to the occasional elven child who was ignorant enough to ingest some and even then they would require no treatment and recover in a few hours on their own, but Tauriel wasn’t too fond of the method the king tried to use to keep his son in Mirkwood. 

Thranduil raised his eyes at her slowly. He did not disregard the question. It was legit and her expression reminded him of how much off the beaten track for elvenkind the plan was. The blond paused, going over the thought process once more and getting to the same conclusion as ever, “I can’t lose my son,” he claimed, voice soft and permitting, open. He swallowed thickly, having no wishes to cry in front of his rebellious subject. “May I remind you whose fault that would be?” He changed tack, masking the threatening physical manifestations of his feelings. “You started this, you will fix it too.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Tauriel relented and went back into the satchel where she hid the items she collected out in the fields before daybreak as she had been ordered. “There weren’t many around Dale,” she apologised, “but we don’t know how much a grown elf would need to make them sick. In fact we don’t know how much a child would need, I’ve never seen anyone eat it myself.”

“I have,” Thranduil surveyed the fistful grains in her palm she offered and rolled his eyes, “give me some water. I need to swallow all that and hope it will be enough.”

Tbc


	6. Circus Clowns

Chapter 6: Circus Clowns

Legolas only gave the surrounding forest the occasional look, completely trusting and relying on the guard to spot and report any danger. His almost undivided attention was focussed on his father, hovering close and ready to provide any assistance should it prove required. Outwardly it looked like Thranduil had recovered from his little faintness episode as he mounted the stallion fluidly and seemingly with little effort, then led the animal stoically with more direction than before. Legolas had his suspicions however, even though not a sliver of detail was out of place with Thranduil. The king pulled away to lead the travelling group, across the stream, up the rise and onto the forest pass. With him apparently pretending to be in control so splendidly, it took Legolas by surprise when his father suddenly bent forward and haphazardly half dismounted, half fell in an undignified heap onto the ground to be violently ill and end up on all fours before the prince could get to him. The smaller elf scrambled perplexedly, at a loss at the same time as wanting to do everything to help. He decided on keeping his father’s hair out the way and placing his other hand on Thranduil’s chest to steady him and stop him from getting himself reacquainted with the contents of his stomach. 

Thranduil took the air wheezingly, in gulps in between heaves, curling up around his stomach with a painful expression in the gaps that allowed it. The entourage, including Tauriel closed in behind them, with no possible manner for the elves to unsee and be unaware in any way of their king’s plight this time. “I’m very worried for him,” Legolas addressed the arriving Tauriel, voice apprehensive and panicky. He never was for keeping royal appearances if he could help it and this wasn’t the time to start. 

The redhead nodded, acknowledging his worries with an understanding, empathetic expression, then came up at the other side of Thranduil, “my Lord, if you could please lie down, on your side,” she touched his arm encouragingly, “you will feel better, I will help you,” she promised. 

Thranduil more like lurched and fell into her arms to be placed and manoeuvred exactly where she wanted him, eyes closing as he moaned and held a palm firmly to his stomach. It was the height of their little show, she knew, but she had to wonder how much those seeds were actually hurting him. Legolas’ tangible panic was also hard to miss. If she would’ve had to guess, she would’ve said that the spectacle was getting the desired results, perhaps a little too well. Time to take it down a notch, “he will be alright Legolas. The wound sickness isn’t bad, there’s no fever. I can get him in the saddle with a little spell in no time.”

“Wound sickness?” Legolas echoed the key words of the play.

“A little infection,” Tauriel took to rub Thranduil’s tummy through the fabric of his tunic, who had obediently moved his fingers out the way. “I’ve noticed it at our last stop. It’s not uncommon with internal injuries either, nothing to worry about,” she tried to lessen the blow. 

Thranduil however, wasn’t playing along with that incentive of hers. He was still staging the ailment, pulling his legs up towards his stomach, making a fist with one hand and covering his mouth with the other. But at least he had stopped being physically sick. “You want me not to worry!” Legolas exclaimed exasperated. “Make it go away!” He motioned towards the sweating, shaking pile of a king.

“We can’t sojourn here in the forest,” Thranduil enunciated unevenly, voice alternating between a whimper and a groan.

“You can’t exactly move either,” Legolas rebuked, but it made him recognize and remember the situation they were in, potentially exposed to powerful malice, moths and spiders while weakened and few in numbers. 

“I said I can get him mobile,” Tauriel insisted, her eyes wondering pointedly at the gathering round them. The elves weren’t as disrespectful as to stare at their king, but they weren’t minding their own business either. 

“Not like last time,” the prince grumbled displeased. “He well-nigh fell off the horse.”

“I am right here,” Thranduil wheezed. Though it wasn’t much of a surprise his son didn’t observe etiquette again and talked right over his head, literally this time. 

“Ada,” Legolas squeezed the older man’s arm gently, “Tauriel will get you comfortable a little and then I want you to ride with me so I can hold onto you. Is that alright?” 

“Whether I can ride is not for you to decide,” Thranduil insisted for appearances’ sakes. 

Legolas huffed in annoyance. “Will you let your healer decide then?” The prince stood, knowing fine well that it will most likely be Thranduil’s pretentious pride that will settle matters. He wasn’t in the mood of arguing with the older elf, he will dissipate the bystanders occasionally stealing a glance at them instead and make sure the distraction of the royal family show wasn’t at safety’s detriment. 

“I’m going to give you something to settle your stomach,” Tauriel examined the contents of the emergency bag she was given. 

“Something that works.” The king griped, hand rubbing his own belly now that Tauriel wasn’t. Tauriel gave him a searching look, so he added, quietly, “actual medicine Tauriel, my stomach is killing me.”

The redhead rolled her eyes, also lowering her voice, “yes, well, you shouldn’t have poisoned yourself then.”

“It’s not much of a poison,” he argued, “it should pass soon,” Thranduil almost snatched the towards him extended vial out of her hand and downed it quick, “the consequences of not doing this however could last for eternity.”

Tauriel had to give him that. “Alright. Can you walk? I promised Legolas you would.”

Thranduil grunted in displeasure at the prospect, “not…not exactly at this minute.”

The redhead deliberated for a moment. Liantehen seed poisoning was not treated. Partly because of its self-limiting effect, partly because it was desired that any youngster foolish enough to partake of it would learn first hand for good. “You shouldn’t have taken so much,” she admonished the king again, despite knowing why he had to. It was compassion however that made her lean forward and slide a hand under the garments covering his belly. She left it there for a moment, assessing what she could sense. The cramping had to have been crippling, though she could’ve guessed that already from his harrowed look and shaking fingers. 

“How is he?” Legolas startled her out of concentration. Just as well she didn’t say anything compromising at the time cause she sure didn’t notice him approach. He must’ve been done with whatever leadership duties he had taken on in view of his father’s indisposition.

“I’ll just be doing a spell for pain relief,” Tauriel advised. It just happened to be what Thranduil needed at any case.

“We do have athelas brew with us, don’t we.” The younger royal wondered, “would it not help?”

Tauriel shook her head slightly, in panic. It was a no-no no-go. Getting the king hale was not the plan under any circumstances at this moment, that much she knew. “I feel really nauseous. I can’t keep anything down right now.” Thranduil announced, thinking quicker than her. 

“Nonsense,” Legolas declared, “the athelas should stop you from feeling nauseous as well.” He might’ve not have had massive magical knowledge, but basics he knew. “Give him some Tauriel,” he ordered in the manner he had apparently swiftly appropriated ever since his disagreement with his father on the battlefield. Legolas wasn’t the loyal subject who kept his questions to himself anymore, he was his own person and he was going to take whatever authority he still possessed as the prince and heir to the throne and Thranduil will either have to put up with it, or not at all. 

The redhead looked from one to the other, indecisive about whose wishes she should follow. Thranduil stared back at her, with something of an unusual look, something she could only cypher as renewed secretive intent. He nodded, as if giving in to Legolas, towards her bag though, fixing it with his eyes long and pointed. What did he want? She could pretend pouring some out and he could take an empty cup to his mouth, but what if Legolas noticed? She couldn’t do that? Tauriel measured the brew out slowly, playing for time, glancing at the king to give her some pointers, but Legolas wouldn’t have it, he was not patient enough. He took the holder out her hand and served his father himself, “just a few sips ada,” he oversaw the act of drinking. Just as well she didn’t go for the empty cup approach. 

Thranduil tightened his hold on his belly and leaned forward, playing up the discomfort. “Do you have a compress in there?” He reached into her bag with his other hand. 

“Uhm…no?” Tauriel had no idea what he was getting at to start with, not till he dug deep into the holdall to the bottom and pulled his hand out fisted tightly, no doubt having some of the leftover seeds in his palm. It was a good idea, counterbalancing the medicine he was meant to take with some more of the offending toxin, but the redhead didn’t think it a great idea. No elf in their right mind would partake of the spores twice, and in such quick succession too. But then again, Thranduil wasn’t in his right mind. 

“Can you stand?” Legolas peered into his father’s face concernedly. 

“Bring the horse, give him a moment for the brew to take effect,” Tauriel advised her childhood friend, trying to keep him away so that Thranduil could do what he wanted. 

Legolas nodded, “the sooner we get him into bed, the better.” With that, Tauriel wholeheartedly agreed. This farce was making her increasingly more uneasy. 

Tbc


	7. Amalgamated

Chapter 7: Amalgamated

Thranduil accepted Legolas and Tauriel’s help to get to his feet, but gave them a condescending look when they didn’t want to let go at first, then made the dignified walk of a few steps what all it was to his grazing horse, but at least everyone in their company could breathe easier being assured that the king could still be up and about. He raised a leg into the stirrups and managed a stately mounting, none different than any other time, though those seeds were already unleashing a new wave of cramping in his belly. His breathing shallow, he vaguely tried to direct the steed towards the least uneven ground, dreading the lengthy climb up to the elven stronghold. Distracted, he only noticed Legolas when he was sitting right behind him on the same horse, just like what the younger elf alluded to earlier, taking the reins out of his hand. 

“Lean to me and rest,” Legolas advised, “leave everything to me,” he put forward firmly. The days of him being a silently obedient son were over, they both knew that and so he may as well take no nonsense and help the situation. 

“You need to oversee the scouting for danger, not tend to me,” Thranduil opposed half-heartedly. He was glad his son took his father’s health seriously, and for the support too. 

“I ordered Mafortion to take care of that,” the prince mentioned one of the captains. “Is this alright? Am I hurting you?” While Legolas held the reins with one hand, he was holding onto Thranduil with his other, round his middle, and they joined the procession once more. 

“It’s acceptable,” the older elf permitted. The pressure of the strong arms on his abdomen was pleasant in fact, it alleviated the cramping somewhat, or at least it felt like it did. Appearances had been thoroughly damned for the day already, it was the price he had to pay, so he did as he was told, leaning into the embrace, allowing his body to relax and be supported. 

“Ada?” Legolas questioned the behaviour, panicked. He didn’t expect Thranduil to be so pliant and compliant, nor so pale and lax. The king seemed to care not what his entourage thought of his ostensible weakness and that was adding to Legolas’ worry for the condition he was in. “You’re not going to be passing out on me are you?” He probed with a question he never thought he would ever have to ask of his father. 

“I am not,” the elvenking assured, somewhat breathless, through a particularly brutal cramp, something Legolas didn’t miss either with his palm on the other’s belly. 

“You’re very unwell,” the prince summarised the seemingly obvious, “I am thinking we might need to turn around and get you back to Dale. I’m assuming you took all the healers to where a battle could take place, so there’s none in Mirkwood?” It was fair to assume, it would’ve been common practice as those elves left behind in safety would have had no need for healers. 

“There’s Tauriel,” Thranduil maintained.

“Tauriel doesn’t seem to be able to help you,” Legolas held frustratedly. “She isn’t the best person to do so.”

“Me getting wound sickness isn’t Tauriel’s fault,” the older elf sustained tiredly. 

“What if her magic isn’t strong enough to heal you? She is only a common wood elf after all,” the prince was seeing sense in this matter at least. 

“Ion-nin, you don’t seriously propose trailing me back a day’s trek when we’re almost at the place where I can rest safely?” Thranduil lamented. In the condition he pretended to be he was supposed to be too weak to take a firm stance and stop Legolas whatever he was intending to do with him, yet going back to proper healers who could spot the charade was not a desirable outcome. “Legolas, I wish to get to my bed as soon as possible.”

“And then what? Without the proper care.”

“Then you can send a messenger to Dale. My stomach hurts really bad,” he pulled out the big guns, hoping to influence his son. “Dina, asca, an ngell nîn.”

The last words had a thorough effect. Legolas couldn’t even remember if he’d ever heard his father utter a please, or voice an open bodily complaint. He took a deep, shaky breath, “is there any way I can make you more comfortable on route home?”

“Keep doing what you’re doing,” Thranduil breathed, pain palpable in his efforts to speak. He placed a hand on Legolas’ on his belly and pressed weakly. “The compression helps.”

Legolas nodded at the side of his father’s head. Troubled, he slipped a few fingers in between the fastenings of the shirt tunic Thranduil wore, getting to the skin and hopefully to more indicative sensation that could tell him how bad the older elf was feeling. What he found under his fingertips, he did not like one bit, the seizing muscles and palpable cramps going through the other elf’s midsection. “I’m not going to wait for a fresh messenger. I’m sending someone back right now,” he turned to their nearest travel companion, who happened to be another archer. “You’re not one of the injured, right, soldier?” Some came along with them for protection from the perils of the forest. 

“No, My Lord,” the elf answered dutifully, eying the king from the corner of his eyes apprehensively. Legolas was vaguely aware that they have all been. “Turn around. Find Glandur. Tell him the king has taken extremely ill.” Knowing his orders will be carried out, he drew his attention back to his father.

“Extremely might be a strong word,” Thranduil complained, cursing to himself. With the travel distances calculated in, he barely had two days to sort everything out with his son and miraculously recover too without raising suspicion before his chief healer made an appearance. 

tbc

Glossary:

Asca – hurry   
Dina – be silent


	8. Conterminous

Chapter 8: Conterminous

Thranduil lay in his bed silently and compliantly, eyes closed, knowing that neither Legolas or Tauriel has left his side since their arrival to the stronghold of the caves. The king was quite sure he would’ve been able to make it up to his room on his own feet after dismounting-the effect of the seeds having mostly ran its course on route and was leaving him with nothing much more than the occasional pulling pang in his stomach. It was somewhat regrettable he still had to play the part in front of startled groups of servants, but he let himself be placed in a cloak elves could hold at both sides to carry him, though he assured bystanders with nods and complete kingly composure that he was well enough, glad when the public performance was over and all who remained with him were the two younger elves getting him home. Tauriel started with the wet compresses applied to his belly and he had to acknowledge to himself that whatever the elleth put in the brew she infused the cloth with was very pleasant, warm and got him thoroughly relaxed, easing his guilty conscience in the process. 

Legolas sat close, fidgety and nervous, going as far as placing a hand on his father’s shoulder or arm comfortingly at times, though he let the older man rest otherwise as Tauriel had suggested. “Is he getting better?” He inquired quietly, catching Tauriel’s hand this time under his own when she was changing the rather unnecessary compress. 

“Most definitely,” the redhead allowed. She was hoping that was the correct answer by Thranduil as well at this point. The archer captain had had enough of the charade for one day and was not sure how long she could still continue to lie to her best childhood friend, royal orders be damned. It wouldn’t be the first time she disobeyed. “If you’d put your hand on his belly, you could note how the cramps had eased and you can see how his breathing calmed too.” 

“So you say he’s out of danger?” The prince pressed, moving his hand to the upper part of the king’s stomach to indeed experience the situation himself.

“He was never in danger, Legolas,” Tauriel shook her head, giving him a small, compassionate smile. She wished she could hug the elf, fraternal fondness for the other engulfing her. Legolas had always done the right thing, he didn’t deserve to be messed with like this. “A little stomach ache won’t kill the king.”

“A little stomach ache that makes him faint, throw up and unable to sit straight? I would call that more than a little stomach ache,” the prince argued. “I find myself weary you’re not taking his condition seriously enough for your own grievances.”

“I may have not always followed my orders, but I do not intentionally intend to cause harm,” Tauriel argued. 

“Hands off.” Thranduil commented gruffly and opened his eyes. Her comment was too close to the knuckle. It was no business of Tauriel to assure his son that he was perfectly fine and prove it too and it was certainly no business of hers to make such suspicious statements. 

“I am sorry I woke you. You need your rest,” Legolas bowed and retreated into his seat, though no further. He wasn’t going to move till he could see his father hale. 

“You should grab some kip too before you depart North, ion-nin,” the king imparted, hoping for some assurances of a change of intentions for the time being.

“You’re going North?” Tauriel gaped. She wasn’t supposed to have known this yet and therefore acted as if she was surprised. 

Both royals raised sad eyes at her for a moment before withdrawing in themselves. “Before you go Legolas, I’d like to tell you about your mother. Ask anything and I shall endeavour to answer to the best of my abilities,” Thranduil promised, “in private,” he added, looking at Tauriel pointedly, but benignly.

“Of course, My Lord,” Tauriel started to gather her healer’s paraphernalia, internally wishing she could be present. She also, was curious about the late queen. 

“No, Tauriel, stay, he needs those compresses. Ada, not today,” Legolas opposed, “we will talk when you are feeling better. I’m not going anywhere for now.”

Thranduil almost smiled at the desired outcome. The game was set, played and conquered. “In that case, I wish to rest and sleep. As you do as well,” he added, willing to let the younger elf out of his sight now that he knew his son was going to stay for the time being.

“Ada…” Legolas contended but Thranduil interrupted on his stately, authoritative voice, “you have been on your feet chasing orcs and dwarves, scouting and fighting for several days. I expect you to come back greet me good day when you’re rested.” 

Legolas pursed his lips, contemplating. He had opposed the king often and long enough, perhaps it was time to follow his orders for once. Besides, he was tired. The prince looked the elleth up and down, searching for signs of her exhaustion and emotional distress. “Tauriel needs it more. We can take turns tending to you.”

“I don’t really think I can sleep right now,” Tauriel said softly, despondently. Only one thing I would dream of and see in front of my eyes, over and over…” She trailed off, fisting her hands to drown out the images in her mind that were already replaying recently seen tragedies. 

The prince nodded, in limbo between sympathetic and wretched for his own heart. “I will take first shift then,” he decided, “but after that, I will knock you out myself if need be,” Legolas took a renewed interest in her wellbeing. 

“We are in a huge kafuffle,” Thranduil declared as soon as Legolas was out of earshot. He sat up and pulled himself up towards the headboard, “rushed riding times considering, Glandur could be here as soon as early tomorrow morning and I am entirely hale, with no sign of lingering illness. He will know I am pretending. Please tell me you’ve got more Liantehen.”

Tauriel outright stared at him, mouth open in startlement and apprehension, “but Sire. Taking those seeds three times in quick succession, nobody had done that before.”

“Do you have them, or do you not?” 

“I do, My Lord, but I strongly advise against them. Your insides have been through the ringer and you were quite unwell with the last dose.” She ventured, worried. 

“All the better if I get sick, is it not,” he stated, “bring me the seeds.”

Tbc


	9. Discreet

Chapter 9: Discreet

Without having any choice in the matter, Tauriel was told Thranduil will keep the seeds with him and take them whenever he would assume Glandur was close. She didn’t have many tasks to do with the king afterwards as Legolas and Thranduil seemed to have been locked in well overdue private discussions and so Tauriel didn’t expect she would have to get involved again, especially once the chief healer was back and would soon declare the ruler fit and well, regardless of him taking another dose of the seeds for cover. Therefore she didn’t expect to be woken at night by Galion and rushed to attend to the king with her bag of medicine. The elleth found the royal alone in his chambers, curled up around his stomach on his bed, restless, legs unremittingly jittery in an attempt to find a slightly better position, covered in sweat, his hair sticking to his face, well-nigh shaking and convulsing with some very obvious, real pain. “What happened!?” Tauriel flew to kneel by his side, alarmed.

“Something is wrong,” Thranduil managed to groan.

“Was it the seeds?” She reached to fit her hands between his on instinct, tucked in to protect his belly. 

“They never hurt so much before,” he panted, at a loss, looking pleadingly at the other as if hoping she would have a solution. 

“It was a dangerous game,” she warned, heated, angry with him for not heeding her advice of not taking any more. “Nobody has ever taken so much.”

“Tauriel.” He grabbed her arm, “you need to do something. Glandur could be here any moment. Symptoms won’t match and Legolas can’t find out, ever! Do you understand?” He keened desperately. 

The elleth didn’t pay much attention, she was thinking about a possible solution, keeping her palm splayed against his midsection, and she muttered a soothing spell before asking, “when did you take the seeds?”

“Not long,” he shook his head, “my stomach cramped up awful immediately.”

“Good. Not long, than we can purge it,” she took to the after all very useful medical bag to take out the tincture that would facilitate such action. There were no objections from Thranduil when she offered him some sips, only the difficulties he had raising himself on an elbow to drink. His whole body seized with the movement and Tauriel had to support him when the remaining colour went out his cheeks. She intensified the spell under her fingers, but the cramps didn’t abate, they increased and Thranduil grabbed for her, clearly unable to speak for trying to bite back a cry, his teeth sinking into his own lips tightly. 

“It’s just the purgative taking effect,” she felt the need to assure him, “I’m sure. It will be over in a moment,” she promised. 

“It’s worth…it…if Legolas…stays…” He panted, as if trying to convince himself while his stomach felt as if it was squeezed from the inside and set on fire at the same time. The more it hurt, the more he shook with tremors and the more he shook, the more the movement hurt his stomach so he ultimately let out an entirely undignified and unlike him wail and gazed up at Tauriel, facial expression desperate for an absolution.

The redhead reciprocated with a similarly desperate, and compassionate look. In point of fact she had no idea what to do, apart from maybe give him another dose of the emetic. This time, she had to hold the back of his neck to make him able to drink and as much as swallowing appeared to have hurt him to an extent he seemed out of it and unable focus on anything but the roiling and violent stirring that was his entire belly. At this moment in time, Tauriel wished Glandur was there, never mind the sham, as she feared the king had damaged himself irrevocably. He just lay there on his side, trembling and breathing erratically, sweat soaking his night clothes. His stomach was just a constricted ball of muscles under her hand, yet his insides she could still feel cramping badly under. “Huurts…” He wheezed, shaking his head on the verge of losing control.

“You need to get rid of the poison,” she maintained. If the medicine wasn’t working, they would have to do it by hand. “If you open your mouth, I will put my fingers down your throat. Do you understand what I’m saying? My Lord?” She tried to get his attention by putting a hand on his cheek and tilting his head slightly towards her. 

“Al..right,” Thranduil managed, desperate to try anything. And those wet eyes, were they the beginnings of tear drops? Kings didn’t cry, Thranduil didn’t cry? It felt wrong, out of place. Whatever hesitation she still had up until then for using an invasive method, disappeared at that sight. She took a deep breath to psyche herself and determinedly and quickly shoved two fingers into his mouth as far as they went and tilted his head with her other hand for better access and so that the eventual vomit would end up on the floor. 

Heaves went through him, seizing his body and his eyes rolled back, but she didn’t withdraw, not until the fourth violent gag that produced some of the liquid he took earlier and ultimately, some of the seeds. Tauriel sighed in relief, despite knowing it wasn’t over yet, but it was a start. She gave him a moment this time till the dry heaves abated and his breathing was somewhat less erratic, then she continued her treatment. It was two more rounds before it appeared there was nothing left in his stomach and she saw a similar amount of soaked seeds on the floor as what she had given him earlier on his request. “Do not ask me ever again to poison you.” She established firmly. 

Eyes closed, Thranduil still gave her a tired, small smile, “you are meant to follow orders little elf, or be banished.”

Tauriel sniggered with relief. “Are you alright?” She looked for a cloth, cleaned her hands, then placed then on his belly. It was still cramping, but it was soft and pliant and he didn’t guard it from further pain. 

“Thank you,” he nodded, exhausted and feeble, but she could already see the colour returning to his cheeks. 

“Report,” Glandur burst in, addressing her, getting rid of his helmet and gloves as he approached. 

Tauriel just about had time to drop the cloth she was holding over the puddle on the floor and mask the seeds. “Oh, Legolas was very concerned for his father, but I assure you, His Majesty is recovering well now,” he recounted calmly and composed, as if she wasn’t worried for his wellbeing moments ago herself, “his fever broke,” she looked down on the sweaty clothes, what a good time for that being drenched to happen, “and his cramps are largely gone.” 

“Tauriel has taken good care of me,” Thranduil held, “and my son was indeed reacting disproportionately. Your skills would have been put to better use by those still at Dale.”

“Well, I am here now. Allow me to examine you My Lord, I may be of some help after all,” Glandur offered. “You have been very unwell just recently,” he eyed the heap of the soaked towel on the floor. 

“I’ll take care of that,” Tauriel offered swiftly, “and you can take my place,” she mopped up the mess and moved to the dirty clothes basket to get rid of the offending item. 

The healer took stock of what he could see with his patient. Thranduil was off colour, though not overly so, not more than you’d expect if you were just getting over wound sickness. Touching his forehead first, he could feel sweat, but no raised temperature and keeping his hand on the king’s head allowed him to sense that the ruler was still strong and resilient. The newly arrived elf nodded, satisfied with his findings, “feasibly, you are right. I may be more useful elsewhere. How is the pain?”

“Not bad, I’m just tired from the ordeal of it all,” Thranduil allowed truthfully, rubbing a hand over his abdomen more in wonder than anything else. The pain was negligible, almost like phantom, more a sign of his insides having been tortured beforehand, than a current affliction. “I fell ill on the journey here and might’ve started Legolas. I am well now.”

“Not quite well, Sire,” Glandur had a probing hand on the king’s belly now, finding again nothing that felt different from a recovering, upset stomach. “We do not want you to relapse, so I’d like to advise you to stay on bedrest for a few days,” he concluded from his examination that resulted in heavier breathing from Thranduil and a badly concealed wince. “Your stomach’s still tender. Nausea?”

“A little,” Thanduil has decided was the best answer to that, given what Tauriel had to clean up. “I shouldn’t have eaten,” he concluded. 

“It’s probably for the best for now,” Glandur agreed, “only water and medicine for a couple of days.”

“Would you like to get some rest after the rush here? I could continue to watch over His Majesty for a bit?” Tauriel offered, still wanting the healer out the way just in case something did look suspicious. “As you can see, everything is under control.”

“I wish to sleep the remains of this illness off,” Thranduil joined in, catching on. 

The just arrived healer seemed reluctant, “are you sure, My Lord?”

“Dismissed,” the ruler accentuated, “you can speak to Legolas in the morning, let him be assured I am recovering well.”

“As you wish, My King,” Glandur bowed, backtracking. The loyal kind and not defiant, he would not disobey a direct order. “I will come check on you in the morning as well.”

“You think he bought it?” Thranduil asked Tauriel, as soon as he thought it safe. 

“I don’t think there were suspicious signs,” the redhead assured, “but I don’t advise any more ruses while he’s around, Sire.”

Thranduil nodded his agreement and fidgeted to settle into his pillows, alarming her somewhat, “are you really alright? We didn’t even have time to assure that with Glandur’s arrival.”

“My stomach hurts a little,” he admitted truthfully, “but there’s no comparison to earlier. Can you do something about it still? I might not be able to rest if it goes on.”

“Anything left to purge in there?” She was checking. 

“Perhaps a little,” Thranduil pressed at his own belly, testing how sensitive it was, “I could’ve done without Glandur’s prodding.” 

“We should probably purge the last bit,” Tauriel suggested. 

“M’tired,” Thranduil sighed, looking unsure.

The elleth nodded understandingly. Getting him to vomit had been difficult, and Thranduil still had it harder even with her doing all the actual work. With all the shaking, cramping and convulsing insides, there was no doubt about who should be more affected by the ordeal. “Sire, if we don’t do it now, it will be completely absorbed into your body and there’s no other way we can get rid of it.”

Thranduil rubbed his belly, not looking forward to the torment, then turned to his side and shoved his own fingers down his throat without further ado, now that he was more capable of actively participating in what was his fate. There was determination and desperation in his movements too, he wanted this over and done with. Withou wavering, he kept digits where they didn’t belong till retching and gags turned into heaves. Judging by his other hand tightening on his stomach, fingers digging in, it hurt him quite bad. 

Tauriel reached without thinking, round that place, to massage the pain away. He produced very little, saliva and stomach juices mostly, and the remains of a few seeds. “Alright, alright, that’s probably enough,” Tauriel helped him back into the comfort of the pillows, not liking how hard his abdomen had gotten again with the effort, “we might be doing more harm than good. Just rest. Sleep. I will clean up and stay here if you need anything. It’s alright, it’s over,” she encouraged, pulling up the covers to tuck him in. 

The king swallowed, uncomfortable, but she didn’t have to make the suggestion twice. All he wanted was locking all this experience out of his consciousness. He let himself fall asleep, exhausted. 

Tbc


	10. Redundant

Chapter 10: Redundant

Thranduil was still asleep when Glandur came to take over from the younger, more inexperience healer in the morning. Tauriel left with aching hesitation, not wanting become unaware of what went down between deceiver and deceived. Tauriel’s head felt tight with worry, for the king to be found out, for Legolas’ reaction if so and for not being there if Thranduil needed her and there happened to be other unforeseen aftereffects of the seeds. She was not allowed near for the rest of the day however and could only hope for a desirable outcome. Unable to talk to someone about any of her feelings and experiences over the last few days, she retreated into her room, feeling drained and dejected. She didn’t know herself when she fell asleep, but she found herself passed out on the bed when banging on her door woke her up. She had to fiddle with the candle in the darkness before she pulled the latch open, “what’s wrong?” The redhead urged Galion standing on the threshold, “is it the king?” 

“His Majesty requests your presence,” the servant confirmed. 

“Is he unwell? Is he in pain?” Tauriel followed Galion down the hall promptly. 

“I do not know,” the butler answered serenely, without much haste in his steps. “I only know he’s asked for you.”

Tauriel shook her head in disapproval of the other elf’s attitude and took the lead in advancing towards the king’s chambers, “did he look well when he asked? What was he doing? Where is Glandur? Did the king eat anything?” 

“I’ve been given leave. I believe it was Our Prince who was with the king all day and I’ve only been asked to stand by in case His Majesty needs anything for the night. I’ve been asleep,” Galion admitted, but at least he was providing some information now, “the king shouted me in to call you. I do not know how he’s been.”

The redhead sighed and sped her steps. She was way ahead of the servant and did not wait for him when she dashed into the king’s private chambers, half expecting a repeat of the previous night. “My Lord? Are you alright?” Tauriel eyed the king as he lay in bed in a light, almost see-through, white tunic as nightwear, most of his skin exposed at the chest and abdomen. The elleth thought he looked somewhat pale and preoccupied, but he didn’t seem to be in obvious agony like last time. “Is your stomach sore?” She questioned nevertheless, stepping close, ready to examine him. 

Thranduil shook his head, “calm down, Tauriel. I am well. Your concern is somewhat touching all the same,” he smirked at her provocatively, “you no longer consider me the enemy perhaps?” 

Tauriel swallowed and bowed her head. If they were really back to that now, did that mean he was really well? “I am sorry My Lord. I didn’t get to suitably apologise for my behaviour as we were otherwise engaged.” 

“And which parts are you apologising for?” Thranduil pulled himself higher on his pillows, seemingly with no difficulties. “What I need to know is which acts you regret, or would do any different.”

The warrior elleth felt familiar defiance swell in her at his words. He had his principles and she had hers. It wasn’t something she would back from, and she was not going to start lying now, apart from that little scheme he’d talked her into, “I believe help should be given, if help is needed. But thinking that I could force my king to help was foolish.”

Thranduil sighed, “I am glad you have learnt something, but that doesn’t sound like I could expect nothing but obedience from you in the future. Though I didn’t suppose that would be the case,” he rolled his eyes. “However, you have done a great service to me recently that I could’ve asked of nobody else. I’ll have you know that we have succeeded in our endeavour. Legolas is in his mother’s rooms I have had opened for the first time in centuries and claims to stay till he has seen and read everything there is to learn in there, from diaries to artwork and favoured books read a hundred times over. So as I promised, you are pardoned. I expect you to resume your position in the guard and try not to step out of line too much.” His words came to a halt with resolute decisiveness.

“I shall endeavour not to disappoint you, My Lord,” Tauriel said truthfully. “I will do my best to stay away from Legolas,” she promised. 

The king raised an eyebrow, “I’ve not given you that order.”

“It’s probably for the best…” The redhead started. 

“For now,” Thranduil agreed, “but what do you think will keep Legolas here after he’s finished with his exploration? I can’t very well fall ill every time, can I?”

“My Lord?” Tauriel questioned again, once more confused by his intentions. 

“He is angry with you for the time being. But once that settles, he will be looking for his childhood friend, perhaps to share all the new knowledge.”

“He has been looking for more than a childhood friend. Wasn’t that the issue, My Lord.”

Thranduil scoffed and gave a trivialising wave that was in reality nothing but. “As you have witnessed, I am willing to make sacrifices for the sake of the only family I have left.” At Tauriel’s startled face he added, “may that sacrifice be an undesirable spouse choice of the crown prince.”

Tauriel’s expression turned even more panicky, “Is Your Lordship commanding me something I would be prone to disobey?”

The king waved her off, “we shall see what happens, all in time. You’re perchance getting some centuries ahead of yourself.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Tauriel frowned, this time not meaning his physical health. 

Thranduil looked at her hard and probing, not missing the sarcasm, but deciding to ignore it. He was in too much of a happy mood for petty feuds. “Go tell Galion to fetch some medicine. Red, vintage and Dorwinion. Me and you, we need to drink on a successful venture,” he nodded suggestively. 

“Is that wise?” She challenged, “has your stomach recovered enough?”

The blond elf’s lips curved into a smile, “you are an incurable rebel Tauriel. I sort of like it,” he admitted, coquettish. “My stomach you can check if you wish, make your own mind up,” he pulled the lapel of his night shirt out of the way. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Tauriel squirmed uncomfortably. He was already scarcely dressed as it was, there was no need to expose himself even more. “I can see you’ve already partaken of your favourite medicine,” she drew her conclusion from his provocative behaviour, “quite a lot of it I would presume.”

“I am the happiest I’ve been for a long time,” Thranduil acknowledged.

The End.


End file.
